


St. Valentine's Day

by Milieu



Series: A Game of Beautiful Madness [5]
Category: Changeling: The Lost, World of Darkness (Games)
Genre: Changelings, Gen, Slice of Life, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-25 18:20:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12538244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milieu/pseuds/Milieu
Summary: Sunset officially meets the Winter King.





	St. Valentine's Day

The run-down outlet mall tucked away in one of the more hipster-y corners of Seattle's downtown didn't garner much attention. About half its shops seemed occupied, if that; the rest were boarded up or sitting in various states of disrepair, though word occasionally got around about seeing people enter the empty blocks, probably squatters or petty criminals. Of the occupied blocks, there was a ratty-looking secondhand furniture store, a couple of near-identical sandwich shops, some kind of homeopathy and tobacco place which smelled quite strongly of smoke that belonged to a different herb, a RadioShack that was probably not being run with the company's official sanctioning, and various smaller areas that had been converted into modest offices and apartment blocks.

In general, the outlet gave off the air of being half-forgotten, even by those who lived and worked there. In the gray light of a late winter morning, everything looked stark and bright to a degree that made it seem unreal, even unsettling.

Sunset like the place immediately.

The wind was biting and few people were out and about before the inevitable afternoon and evening date rush. Sunset was bundled up against the cold, parasol shielding her from the sporadic snow flurries and the worst of the wind, a fleeting dual shadow against the gray and white of the landscape as she entered the outlet. "Cozy" wasn't quite the right word for it, but it felt secure. Much less hustle and bustle than the trendier plaza occupied by Spring, where the more upper-class frequented, pretending that they were artsy and indie.

She paid little mind to the shops as she weaved through the cracked pavement and slush. She had a destination in mind.

The door she was looking for was tucked away in a corner, as she had expected it might be, painted a nondescript gray like the building around it. The door's paint was beginning to peel a little, but the letters on its frosted glass were neat and even.

 **V. Addams**  
**Private Investigator**

Sunset could make out faint shapes through the glass, including one which was distinctly person-shaped, so she raised her hand and briskly knocked.

There was a shuffling and then a rush of warm, smoky air as the door swung inward and Vic's pale pointed face appeared. He looked about as healthy as she had ever seen him and offered a quick, characteristically nervous smile as he greeted her.

"Hey! You're a bit early - come in, I've got some stuff to sort through before we go."

He stepped back and Sunset folded her parasol and shook the snow off of her boots before entering. The interior of the office did lend itself to the word "cozy"; the chairs on either side of the desk were worn but comfortable-looking faux leather and the carpet was plush, if strongly smelling of cigarette smoke. It was decorated with a cheery color scheme of light blue, green, and peach, which rather contrasted both the outside and the office's main occupant. A poster depicting the cover of a vintage Superman comic hung on one wall. It was rather toasty inside, apparently owing to the space heater tucked in the corner which gave off a somewhat amusing feeling of being enchanted. Might as well get the best utility out of magic, Sunset supposed.

"You cut your hair," Vic observed as he took her coat for her and hung it on the back of the door.

Sunset unwound her scarf and handed it over to be hung up as well, absently reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ears as he commented. "Yeah."

She had indeed cut it, chopping nearly six inches off of the left side and leaving it above the shoulder on the left and down to her chest on the right. It had been a combination of necessity and vanity; her hair curled naturally when allowed to grow long, which she liked, but keeping it out of her eye was a hassle. She didn't like having bangs either, so the asymmetrical cut was the compromise. She had done it with some magazine pictures and a single mirror for reference, but was pleased enough with the result, which she liked to think toed a line between elegant and wild. "I was tired of pinning it up on one side. Don't need my vision any more impaired than it already is."

Vic indicated one of the seats and she took it, continuing, "I thought I probably ought to polish up some anyway, since this will be my first public appearance in... ever." Not that she looked bad on most days, to stroke her own ego a bit. Aside from the recent haircut, her current outfit wasn't even particularly daring by her standards, but it never hurt to put a little extra effort in. Red and black never went out of style. There was just the matter of making sure her skirt didn't drag in the snow.

"Yeah, that's... well. You look nice." Vic glanced down at his own sweatshirt, motorcycle gloves, and ratty jeans. Sunset exhaled through her nose, which was the closest Vic ever got to seeing her really laugh, and made herself more comfortable in the chair. She glanced around the office as he set about making two cups of hot chocolate from his Keurig. She didn't drink coffee and he didn't care for tea, so hot chocolate was their compromise. She was working on learning to compromise on the small things.

"Addams as in Family, huh?" She commented, glancing back at the door.

Vic shrugged. "It's easy to remember and I'm at the top of every alphabetical list."

"Fair enough." Another small wave of amusement washed over her as she watched Vic retrieve a bag of jumbo marshmallows from the cabinet above the Keurig and plop one into each mug of hot chocolate. He offered one to her and she took it with a quiet thanks.

It all felt very nice and  _normal_. Sunset tried not to dwell too hard on it as she sipped her drink, lest the feeling dissipate.

Vic settled into the chair on the other side of the desk with his own mug, turning his attention to the battered-looking computer and open notebook he had apparently been perusing before Sunset arrived. She was content to keep any inquiries about his work to herself while she enjoyed the hot chocolate. Vic was probably the type to feel extremely guilty about any potential privacy leaks from his clients if said leaks weren't about vital changeling-related information.

She had been surprised to learn of his occupation at first; he hardly seemed like he could blend in easily with most surroundings, but then again they were in Seattle. Quiet, slightly greasy-looking men who smelled bad were a dime a dozen.

Vic's powers of persuasion were somewhat lacking and he was hardly intimidating, but he was good at ferreting out information in other ways. Many of his cases didn't even involve Court work; people in need came to him, and he did his best to help. Sunset shot another look at the Superman poster.

She enjoyed the quiet while it lasted. Her visit wasn't just social, of course, or they would have met somewhere other than Vic's workplace. 

When he was through with whatever he was working on, Vic was going to take Sunset to meet the Winter King.

She had figured out over the course of the year or so that she had been back that actively courting new membership was outside of Winter's usual modus operandi, but with Spring drawing nearer and the overall abundance of Spring courtiers in Seattle combined with the lingering tensions from the rumors that had come out of Miami a few years ago, the other three Courts were making moves for insurance. Even if no real threat existed, nobody wanted to appear weak. Being underestimated was perhaps desirable, but being underestimated enough to invite any sort of attack was not.

The fact of the matter was that however thoroughly she might have been vetted from afar, Sunset only had Vic's word to really vouch for her. She didn't yet know how strong his word was within the Winter Court. They had established a story covering Sunset's decision to join the Court, carefully leaving out any mention of the deal they had struck regarding her Fetch.

The Fetch itself hadn't resurfaced at any of it usual haunts since their failure to destroy it, and she hadn't returned to survey her old apartment for fear of nosy neighbors and potential witnesses that might connect her to the incident. She had a certainty that the Fetch was still alive, out there somewhere. She had tried not to dwell on what its disappearance might mean.

Vic drew her out of her thoughts by clearing his throat as he closed his notebook and placed it in a desk drawer. "Ready to go?"

Sunset nodded, rising from her chair as Vic did the same and gathered their empty mugs to set aside. She retrieved her coat, scarf, and parasol, waiting for Vic to exchange his sweatshirt for a fleece-lined motorcycle jacket and to don his own scarf and hat. Once prepared, they braced themselves and then ventured back out into the cold.

The wind had died down, leaving a light sprinkle of snow flurries. Sunset opened her parasol out of habit, though it wasn't as necessary as it had been earlier. The quiet between them resumed as they trudged out of the outlet and down to a bus stop, and it wasn't as tense as it might have previously been. Vic lit a cigarette while they waited at the stop. A pair of teenage girls glanced at Vic and Sunset curiously and then edged away, noses wrinkling as the mingling smells of exhaust and sickly sweet flora hit them.

The buses were running slowly thanks to the treacherous roads, and Vic was able to get about halfway through his cigarette before the one they were waiting for arrived. He stubbed it out and gestured for Sunset to get on first, and she was feeling charitable enough or nervous enough to not feel inclined to roll her eye at the show of chivalry (or the insurance that she wouldn't back out now). They took seats near the back, and Sunset glanced out the window to see the two girls still at the stop talking animatedly as the bus pulled away. She briefly wondered if the girls were talking about the pair of them, the odd-smelling grunge and Lolita couple.

She finally chose to break the silence between them as the bus rumbled along. "What's he like?"

"Hm?" Vic, lost in his own thoughts, blinked and turned to her.

"The old man," Sunset clarified, knowing he would know she was referring to the Winter King without having to say it outright. You never knew who was listening on public transportation. "What's he like?"

"Oh! Uh..." Vic rolled his tongue against the inside of his cheek, considering. "Hm... I suppose I'd say he's a bit reserved but he has this air of being... kindly, I guess. I'd say he's grandfatherly. Wait, no- maybe more like an uncle. But not a creepy one."

"What a glowing recommendation," Sunset said dryly.

Vic shrugged. "You'll see what I mean when you meet him. He's very dignified. Like an old aristocrat."

"A stuffy rich white guy, you mean."

"I'm not sure he's actually rich, but yeah," Vic admitted.

They disembarked a couple of blocks down from a small gated community at the city's edge. The streets just outside the neighborhood felt even more barren than the downtown, with no signs of movement within the manicured homes and their crunching footsteps the only noise. Sunset didn't find it as comforting as the outlet mall.

They approached one of the neighborhood gates and Vic stepped up to the... guard shack? Sunset had never set foot in a neighborhood this upper-class before and had no idea what many of the various little fixtures were actually called. Whatever the small building was, Vic rapped on the window and an intercom buzzed to life in response, waiting. Sunset couldn't actually see anyone within the shack, but her spine prickled with the certainty that there was someone inside observing them.

"Pizza, ma'am," Vic said matter-of-factly, despite the fact that they were on foot and no pizza was in sight.

A tinny voice crackled through the intercom. "You got breadsticks?"

"Yep."

"Any extra sauce?"

"Nope."

"All right, Mr. Donovan is waiting for your delivery at number 1513." The intercom clicked off and the gate rolled back after another moment for them to step through.

Vic had clued her in ahead of time about the mundane conversations which served as cover for requesting entry to various Winter strongholds - food delivery, looking for a lost dog, taking a survey. Easy, seemingly-casual ways to announce one's presence, the presence of guests, whether they suspected anyone was following them, or whether they were in danger. Perfecting the coded exchanges could mean the difference between sanctuary and disaster.

It still felt monumentally stupid when witnessed first hand, she decided. Or maybe she just resented being deemed the breadsticks in this scenario.

Sunset followed Vic through, glancing back at the small building and noting that it still looked uninhabited from the outside. "Is everyone in this neighborhood part of the club?"

"Most everyone, yeah. The property values are actually pretty low; there was some kind of corner-cutting done when most of the houses were built, so it was never very popular. We've been fixing things up slowly but surely, working our way out from the old man's place. We're diverse enough and the, uh... 'helpers' aren't a bother, so the other residents don't get any ideas about some kind of weird gang muscling in on them or anything."

When he phrased it like that, it sounded more like a cult than anything. The "helpers" that Vic had so subtly alluded to were ensorcelled mortals, brought in for some skill or connection that couldn't have been easily obtained through the person's free will. Vic hadn't outright said so, but Sunset got the impression that the Winter King had a particular talent for bringing in such helpers.

She had made her decision though, and she had seen enough of Vic over the past months to be confident that he was acting under his own will, if following someone else's orders. No backing out now. She kept her promises.

Number 1513 sat just off a cul-de-sac, looking almost suspiciously nondescript nestled in between its near-identical neighbors. The curtains were drawn in all the street-facing windows, but Sunset was sure that she saw a flicker of movement in one of the upstairs windows, as though someone had momentarily brushed the curtains aside to get a look as she and Vic approached the front walk.

"The suburbs always gave me the creeps," she muttered. Vic glanced over and smiled sheepishly in that way he did whenever he didn't quite know what to say.

He didn't hesitate when stepping up to the front door and knocking, and it swung noiselessly open with no preamble. No coded greeting this time; their visit was planned and had been announced. Holding the door for them was a man best described as "narrow"; narrow face, narrow, stooped frame, narrow yellow eyes that peered at them with an expression more analyzing than curious. He reminded Sunset of the character Riff Raff from The Rocky Horror Show, if Riff Raff had somehow been compressed into a smaller space than he had previously occupied.

"Charles," Vic greeted him with a pleasantness that seemed slightly strained.

"Vector," the narrow man returned with no inflection at all in his voice. He took their coats and scarves, as well as Vic's hat and Sunset's parasol. She started to follow Vic towards the stairs but Charles stopped her. 

"Weapons," he said, voice still completely flat.

Sunset pursed her lips in annoyance, but produced her folded butterfly knife from the bodice of her dress and handed it over. Charles's expression remained the same. Vic at least had the decency to look embarrassed.

Charles nodded. "Mr. Donovan is waiting for you in the study upstairs."

The house was fashionably and modernly furnished in a way that gave it no character whatsoever. It felt artificially pristine, as though it were still on display for potential buyers. It set Sunset on edge, but she did her best not to let it show.

As they reached the landing at the top of the stairs, Vic nodded in the direction of the French double doors just a few steps away. "I'll be right out here," he said, trying to sound reassuring.

Sunset said nothing but nodded back, stepping up to the doors and knocking lightly.

A low, smooth voice floated out to them. "Come in," it said.

Sunset took a deep breath and pushed the doors open, closing them neatly behind her again as she stepped in. She turned to face the room and its occupant, only to be stopped cold by the sight that greeted her.

If the rest of the house was lifelessly modern, the interior of the study was...

Almost _unbelievably_  retro.

Bright, almost psychedelic wallpaper peered through the spaces on the walls that weren't lined by shelves. The shelves held a combination of books - Sunset didn't stop to dwell on the titles but they looked to be a haphazard mix of classic literature and pop culture biographies - and vinyl records in varying condition. A modern record player sat in the corner, its volume turned down low. Sunset caught a snatch of what she thought was some bright new wave pop melody before her host slid into view and switched the player off, turning her focus to him.

She thought back to Vic's description of the Winter King and concluded that she had serious questions about both Vic's family and just what the hell he thought aristocrats were like.

She supposed that his posture and the way he carried himself were certainly dignified. He was surprisingly tall and broad-shouldered, skin weathered and tanned. His face was less lined than she would have expected, framed by a mass of silvery... dreadlocks? Did he seriously have white person dreadlocks? He seriously had white person dreadlocks. He wore an open-collared green paisley ( _paisley!_ ) button-down with one sleeve rolled up to the elbow and khaki cargo pants. Sunset was afraid to glance at his feet just in case he was also wearing socks with sandals. She didn't think she could deal with that on top of everything else.

"Welcome," he said, gliding up to her like some kind of weird bohemian swan. Everything about him was almost calculatingly disarming, she thought. Everything except for his eyes, which were a piercing steely blue and made cold goosebumps raise on her arms as they swept over her.

Sunset decided right away that she did not like Mr. Donovan at all.

She offered her hand nonetheless, and he accepted it with a smile, shaking it firmly. He kept his left arm folded close to his side, and as he stepped back again to usher her further into the study, Sunset saw why: his arm, mostly concealed by the rolled-down sleeve, was blackened and withered, the hand curled in on itself like a grotesque claw. She quickly returned her gaze to the room, but if he had caught her looking, he didn't mention it.

"Please, have a seat." Mr. Donovan indicated the one of the blocky, brightly-colored armchairs in front of the window. Sunset sat rather stiffly, and Mr. Donovan took the other chair with a smile. There was a small table nearby, holding a plate of cookies, two cups, and a small, steaming teapot. Mr. Donovan poured the tea and offered one cup to Sunset, which she took with a forced, thin smile.

This was all calculated, either to try to set her at ease or to keep her off-balance and disoriented. Sunset wasn't sure which, and either way, she didn't like it.

Then again, maybe the artifice was meant to be obvious. Mr. Donovan's smile didn't meet his eyes as he observed her, making her feel unpleasantly like some small animal being watched by a bird of prey. Maybe he just wanted to judge her reactions.

It occurred to Sunset for the first time to wonder if there were any contracts that allowed one to read minds.

She slowly and deliberately began mentally reciting a recipe for cabbage soup just in case.

"Welcome," Mr. Donovan repeated. "A pleasure to meet you, Miss Han."

 _Wash dried shrimp. Drain. Soak in hot water._ "The pleasure is all mine, sir," she replied, taking care to keep her voice even.

He nodded and took a sip of tea, keeping his eyes on her. When he lowered the cup again, he said, "I must admit, I was surprised when Vector reported that you had changed your mind about our offer of membership. I had judged you to be one of the most... determined of the unaligned that we were considering."

The unspoken question hung between them:  _what were you offered?_

 _Soak fen szu separately in hot water for fifteen minutes_ , Sunset thought. Her mouth said, "I was told that there was a cellphone and an internet connection in it for me."

Mr. Donovan's brow furrowed ever so slightly. Sunset kept her expression carefully neutral. "Necessities in today's society," he said at length.

Sunset tapped her fingers on the arm of the chair in measured intervals. "A refrigerator would be nice too."  _Separate leaves of cabbage. Wash and drain._

He blinked at her slowly. The impression he gave off shifted from bird of prey to judgmental housecat.

_Stack leaves together and cut into halves lengthwise, then cut into sections of one to two inches._

"Is that all?" Mr. Donovan asked finally.

It was Sunset's turn to take a long sip of her tea. It tasted too strongly of peppermint for her preference.

"I suppose I wanted to throw Vector a bone. He can get pretty pathetic." She briefly wondered if Vic was close enough to the door to overhear and the image of his sulky pout crossed her mind. It gave her a small, warm bubble of good humor before she resumed her mantra of cabbage slicing. "Well- I do have a request."

Something in Mr. Donovan's expression relaxed, as if they had finally hit upon what he was waiting for. "Yes?"

"That enchanted space heater he's got in his office - could I have one of those too?"

Mr. Donovan stared at her for a long moment, and then let out a trilling, birdlike laugh that caused her to jump. It was entirely too animal-like a sound to come out of someone who looked like he did.

 _Slice pork thinly across the grain,_ Sunset thought as she tried to regain her composure and steady her teacup, whose contents were sloshing precariously. 

Mr. Donovan took a moment to calm himself and returned his attention to her. "I think you'll do very well, Miss Han. Very well indeed."

"I beg your pardon?"

He smiled again and it had a savage edge to it in contrast to the measured geniality he had projected at first. "Only a fool gives everything away up front. You've got more sense than many of our brethren."

"Thank you?" Sunset tried to recall where she had been in her recipe before Mr. Donovan's sudden change of demeanor.

He nodded, more to himself than to her. "As I said, I was surprised to hear that you had decided to take up our offer, but I was not at all displeased. You're from this area, are you not?"

"I've lived in Seattle all my life," Sunset confirmed.

Mr. Donovan nodded again. "You know your way around, then, and you know how to find certain things that others don't."

"Yes," Sunset said, not letting herself wonder if there was any hidden jab about getting herself abducted in there.

Mr. Donovan drained the rest of his tea and set his empty cup aside, settling back in his chair. "What do you know about the Hedge trods in this area?"

"I know where some can be accessed without deliberately opening a way," she offered, guessing at where he was leading.

"There are parts of the city and the metropolitan area with high rates of missing persons. Can you guess how they overlap with the open-ended trods?"

Sunset took another gulp of tea to hide her prickle of irritation at being talked down to as though by a grade-school teacher. "I would guess that they're largely one and the same, sir."

"Largely, yes. The debate still rages on what to do about these open gateways, but it has been raging for decades with no one side any closer to winning. In the meantime, and for the foreseeable future, we need more people monitoring those areas and keeping note of any disappearances which might be best brought to the attention of the freehold."

"And that's the job you'd like me to do if you decide to take me on," Sunset finished for him.

"Precisely." Mr. Donovan nodded once more, looking satisfied. "Would you be willing and able?"

"Of course."  _I looked into things like that for fun before I was taken_ , she thought but did not add. That was what had gotten her into all of this in the first place.

"Well, then." Mr. Donovan rose from his chair. "I believe that's settled."

Sunset remained seated, carefully setting her half-full teacup down. "Just like that, then?"

He smiled at her, returning to his initial smooth and serene expression. "I'm afraid we're not much for overt ceremony here in the Winter Court, outside of a few occasions. Speak with Vector to arrange whatever identification and other such necessities you require, and he'll also be able to take care of the amenities you were promised. You'll receive communication with instructions on areas of interest and general guidelines on how surveillance should be carried out, but the fine details will be up to your discretion."

He stopped near the doors. Sunset took the hint and stood, making her way over. "I see. Thank you, then."

"One more thing," he said as she reached for the door handles.

Sunset paused, trying to loudly think every word that came to mind except _Fetch_. "Yes?"

"Your eye," he said, suddenly leaning into her personal space. His breath smelled of the peppermint tea and it took every ounce of Sunset's self-control not to flinch away. "A willing loss, or no?"

It took a moment before she could force the words out. "Willing enough. It was what I chose."

"I see." He withdrew as suddenly as he had approached, and had already glided back to the table with the tea and cookies by the time she could bring herself to turn and look at him. He didn't look up again as she shoved the doors open and stalked out.

She nearly collided with Vic a few steps out into the hall. He caught sight of her expression and gave her an understanding, apologetic look, and moved to ease the doors shut while she stood there, trembling and unable to explain why she felt so violated.

They didn't speak as they descended the stairs, collected their winterwear, Sunset's parasol, and her knife from Charles, and left the house. It wasn't until they were back out of the neighborhood and waiting for the bus back into town that Sunset spoke.

"I don't know what the hell  _your_ uncles were like growing up," she said, "but he's definitely a creepy one."

"I was probably distracted by the record collection when I had my interview," Vic admitted. "He doesn't communicate face to face with anyone outside his inner circle most of the time."

"That's the best news I've heard all day."

The sunlight was fading as the bus arrived and they climbed on, settling near the back once again. Vic kept glancing over at Sunset, looking far more concerned than she was comfortable with.

"So," he began eventually. Sunset glanced over at him with one eyebrow raised.

"Well, uh. You see, there's this noodle bar that just opened up near my place, and-"

"Oh thank  _God_ ," Sunset burst out, catching him by surprise. "I need something spicy after all of that." She was also relieved that he wasn't immediately asking about her exchange with Mr. Donovan. There was enough there to stew on all on her own for a good while.

Vic relaxed, breaking into the crooked smile that she was starting to get used to. "I'll treat, since I dragged you all over town today."

"You don't have to do that." Sunset made a token protest, though she certainly wasn't going to stop him if he was determined.

"I want to," Vic insisted. "Don't worry about it."

It wasn't easy for her to not worry about things, but this request at least was one that she thought she could fulfill.

**Author's Note:**

> Mr. Donovan the Winter King is a Fairest Draconic (think phoenix/thunderbird/other mythical giant birds more than dragon). His helper Charles is an ensorcelled mortal rather than a Changeling.


End file.
